


the long haul

by raeldaza



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, which annoys everyone except them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: In where Steve and Danny are playing romantic relationship bingo without ever actually being in a romantic relationship. It's not a big deal, they insist. It's just bros being bros.They'll get there in the end. Eventually. You know, sometime. Probably. They're not too worried about it.





	the long haul

**Author's Note:**

> Not really set in any particular times in canon. Just kind of a wish fulfillment of how it could be going down, I guess.
> 
> A story told in fifteen parts.

**_1\. Introducing to Friends_ **

“Chin!” Steve greets, and his jubilant tone immediately has Chin on edge. On a quick survey of the room, Chin’s surprised to see there’s someone else in there, someone he doesn’t recognize. The guy’s tall, like 6’2, and buff around the arms in a way that reminds him of Dwayne Johnson. “Come in, come in. I want you to meet Moran, who I worked with for a long while in the Navy.”

Ah, probably another SEAL. That explains why the levels of testosterone in the room seem higher than normal.

“Pleased to meet you,” Chin greets in what he hopes is a gracious manner. “You’re friends with the boss, here?”

“That’s what I should be asking you, eh,” Moran responds, and Chin’s slightly surprised to hear what sounds like a Mississippi accent.

“That’s what he tells me,” Chin quips, making Steve grin. “I actually came in here to warn you, boss. Kono, Danny and I were at breakfast, and Kono accidentally let it slip how you got into the safe yesterday.”

Steve lets out a slight flinch and an audible “ugh,” but before Moran can ask what exactly that means, a loud and irate  _“Steve”_ can be heard coming from the front of the office. Chin gives him a sympathetic look before hightailing it out of the way, and in comes Danny, a short ball of righteous rage.

 _“You,”_ he starts, one finger pointing to Steve and the other hand on his hip, like an angry wife in a sitcom. “Tell me, do you get some kind of masochistic thrill out making me enraged? _Do you?_ You’re very good at doing ballet on each of my protruding, tender nerves, let me tell you that. I have to hear from _Kono,_ and not Kono telling me for my own good, no, Kono telling me by _making_ _fun of you,_ that you decided it was a great idea to throw an active grenade in a room where _half your team was,_ at a safe that potentially had _three million dollars in it,_ because you couldn’t wait for professionals to get there! There are rules, you animal, and regulations—”

“I couldn’t let them get away with it, Danno,” Steve argues mildly. “They wanted to take it. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“He couldn’t let that happen, he says.” Danny throws his arms in the air before gesticulating wildly. “Do you realize that I have to write up forms that make your backassward, stupid, completely incompetent police work make sense? You’re going to die one of these days, and I’m not even going to feel sad, do you hear me? Do you hear me, Steve? I’m not going to feel bad. I’m going to feel so relieved, because you dying will take a 200 pound pain out of my ass and put it eight feet under the ground where it can no longer come and give me stress headaches that keep me up till three in the morning in this pineapple infested hell spot of an island!”

“Wow, holy shit,” Moran whispers quietly, and Steve finds himself smirking.

“And hello,” Danny says, waving a hand in Moran’s direction. “Yes, I did see you. No, I do not know who you are. At this moment, all I care about is punching Steve and getting some water because my throat now hurts.”

Danny turns to leave, muttering under his breath.

“Danno,” Steve calls, stopping him. He turns, expression no less furious. “This was my best friend and roomie from the Navy, Moran. Moran, this is my best friend and once roomie here, Danno.”

“Pleased to meet you, Danno." Moran waves.

“Danny,” he corrects, with gritted teeth. “Pleased to meet you. I will happily take you out for a beer tonight and talk to you non-stop about what an annoyance McGarrett is here. But first, I need to not be within shooting range of his holy idiotness." 

At that, he leaves the room.

“I like him,” Moran decides.

“Me too,” Steve agrees, spinning round in his chair to face Moran again.

“Best friend, eh?”

“Best I’ve had. No offense.”

Moran stares at where Danny left. It’s like he was a literal gale force storm, a hurricane, like the air constricted around him, pulling in all elements and making him the sole focus of the room. It feels oddly empty now that he’s gone.

“You know,” Moran says thoughtfully. “None taken.”

 

_**2\. Dates** _

"Rachel, no.”

“Daniel,” she says, oh and that’s her placating tone, he _hates_ that tone. “It would really help me out.”

“And why, pray tell, would I go out of my way to help you out?”

“It’s not that hard,” she snaps. He's getting vivid flashbacks to New Jersey, which isn't going to help her case. “Just pick up my father from the airport so he doesn’t have to get a taxi. Please. He used to be your father-in-law.”

“Yes, what a fabulous argument to make me want to do something.”

“Don’t be snide; it doesn’t suit you.”

“I think you’ll find it suits me perfectly well, thank you.”

“Daniel,” she sighs, all the air leaving her lungs. “Why not?”

“Because I’m _busy._ ”

“Doing what?”

“I spend every Sunday with Steve. We watch whatever football game he can get on his freakish TV, and then we try a new restaurant every week. Sometimes we go for a walk. It’s nice, it’s relaxing, it makes me forget about my hellish job for one evening, and I’m not going to abandon him to sit in a car for an hour with your _father_ who blames _me_ for _you leaving me_  for Stan!”

There’s a suspicious silence for a moment, and Danny takes it to lean his head on his steering wheel, viscerally hating his life.

“You mean to tell me,” she says slowly. “You’re refusing me a favor because you don’t want to break a _date_ with Steve? The guy you see _every day_ at work?”

“Yes,” he snaps, and quickly ends the call. He sometimes wishes he still had a flip phone, because it was so much more satisfying to angrily shut that than just hitting a button.

 

_**3\. Physical Affection** _

“What’re we talking about?” Steve asks, walking into the room.

Chin nods at him in greeting. “I was just about to start the debrief on the Ochoa case,” he says, and brings up a profile on the screen.

What with Lori, Kono, Chin, Danny, Max, and now Steve hovering around the table, it’s a bit crowded, so Steve settles in against Danny’s back, wrapping his arms around his middle and placing his chin on Danny’s head.

“You’re so freakishly tall,” Danny grumbles, leaning his head back against Steve’s shoulder, and relaxing against him. “So obnoxiously fucking tall.”

“I’m thrilled beyond measure that your eyesight remains functional, Danny,” Steve snips back, hands slightly tightening around Danny's middle. “Proceed, Chin.”

Chin just rolls his eyes and turns back to the screen, but Lori makes a small _oh_ sound that has Steve and Danny looking over to her.

“Nothing,” she says, with a small hand wave and pained smile. “Nothing at all.”

Steve and Danny turn back to the monitor and unison, and with a shrug, Chin continues.

 

_**4\. Trust** _

“It’s okay, Danny. Hold on, just hold on. The fire department is almost here, and I’m thinking of another plan.”

“Oh yeah? Since plans A-C failed? What is this, plan D for dumbass?”

Steve laughs, slightly strangled. He squeezes Danny’s hand, just slightly too hard. “Sure, Danny, whatever you say.”

“Not that I’m rushing you or anything—” Danny coughs, long and hard, and lets the thought drop.

Somewhere in the parts of his brain that are still functioning, he’s actually glad he wasn’t driving the Camaro for this. Instead, for one of the very few times in their life, he had taken Steve’s keys to go and track down the escaped convict with a vendetta against the 5-0. At best, he was hoping the guy would surrender without running, for fucking once. At worst, he was anticipating a high-speed car chase that would cost Steve a college tuition in gas.

He was not anticipating the worst being the guy having strapped a bomb to the fuel tank and the truck exploding on the highway, flipping three times in the air, landing on its top, and bursting into flames.

He’s goddamn lucky he had his seatbelt on, because instead of being flown through the windshield at 70mph, he’s instead just hovering upside down against a crushed ceiling, hoping the flames engulfing the back won’t make their way into the front before the fire department manages to untangle the metal trapping him inside.

Steve got there before the fire department, because of course he was following, and the idiot climbed right inside, cutting the seat belt and pulling scalding hot metal and kicking the steering wheel as hard as he could.

Nothing’s worked, and as Steve goes to start cutting at the seat, for whatever goddamn reason his animal head came up with, Danny clutches at his hand. “Hey, hey.”

“What is it?” Steve asks, immediately stilling.

“Can you just stop, please? Look, the claustrophobia thing is getting bad, and I can’t really breathe, I think I broke some ribs. Can you just like sit still for a moment? The fire department will have a better plan anyway.”

“Sure, Danny,” Steve says. He settles back, half inside the truck and half outside. "If you need me to." They’re still holding hands.  

“These things never happened to me in Jersey,” Danny muses. “I should quit. Apply for a low stress job as a secretary. I’ll just tell them, hey, I’m personable, dependable, likeable, and really good at dealing with assholes. They’ll hire me on the spot. How’s that sound?”

“Well, you shouldn’t lie to them,” Steve answers, and Danny’s pleased he’s able to joke in this kind of scenario, as many sad things as that says about their lives.

“See? Asshole. I work with assholes.” He coughs, and feels the heat starting to build around him, stifling.

“Come on, Danny, like you could take a desk job. Your head would implode from boredom in a week.”

“You wouldn’t want my life to get boring, now would you,” Danny manages to laugh. He can vaguely hear the sound of the firetruck coming. Just a few minutes now. He doesn’t know how bad the truck is wrecked, but if Steve says they can get him out, they can get him out. It’s a decent enough panic killer, because if Steve says it, it’ll happen. Some way, some how. That’s something he’s come to learn.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “I ever tell you why I hate small spaces?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “Why don’t you do that?”

Danny knows he’s being humored in order to keep his mind off the situation, and he appreciates it, truly, because he’s about forty seconds from a true on panic attack and there isn’t enough oxygen in the car for that shit. Somewhere in his head he knows Steve can’t be comfortable, half kneeling and half laying slightly inside a burning hot, mangled car, just so he can keep holding his hand and they can keep in eye-contact, but Danny’s absurdly, profoundly grateful, so he’s not going to say anything, much as he feels he should.

“So my brother Matt and I didn’t get along when we were real young. Fighting constantly, you know, how kids as high as your knees do. He was always taller than me, and, one day, he told me that he learned in school that you can die if you’re kept in too small a place for too long. That’s why they use coffins.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I was six, shut up, I’m trying to tell a story.” Steve puts a hand up, placating. “Okay, well, one day he locks me up underneath our kitchen cabinet. Pulls a jump rope through the handles, and I don’t get out for over an hour, the amount of time it took my mom to watch her evening soaps upstairs. I thought I was gonna die. Ever since,” the sirens are so loud now, they must be almost near. “Ever since, you know. I can’t handle it.”

“We’re gonna get you out, Danny,” Steve says, looking behind him. They must be there. Danny closes his eyes, if only to not being looking upside down anymore. “Just hold on.”

“I never told anyone that before,” he muses quietly. He feels Steve press his hand, once, and then let go.

“Well, I’m glad you told me,” he says. “Danny, I’ve gotta move back now, okay? The fire department’s here and are gonna get you out.”

“Glad I told you too, pal,” he says, and tries to let the panic subside. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t, but it’s not,” Steve says, and backs out of the truck, out of the line of sight.

 

_**5\. Sleeping Together** _

“This was a mistake,” Danny says, watching Steve unzip the sleeping bag. “This was a giant, colossal mistake, just like most of my interactions with you.”

“What was a mistake, Danny?” Steve asks, faux-patiently, folding his absurdly long limbs down into the bag.

“Everything. You, me, agreeing on this ridiculous excursion. Tell me, Steve, has anything good ever happened on a camping trip? Ever? Remember the last time we did this, with Grace—”

“Danny, shut up. It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be fine, he says. You always say that, you realize, and it’s never fine, you oversized, brain-damaged man.”

“Would you just get in the bag?” Steve demands, holding up the corner.

“Fine.” Danny bends down and finds himself sliding into the sleeping bag. “If I die from a freak rainstorm, or some animal, or more criminals who just so happen to like forests—”

Steve sighs, nice and loud, enough that it blocks out the rest of Danny’s tirade.

“You are never quiet, are you?” Steve elbows him in the ribs, on purpose, a little too hard. “You’re going to wake the kids.”

“That’s another thing,” Danny says, letting his voice drop to a threatening whisper. “Letting the kids share a tent instead of one of us in each one. They’re going to die. A monsoon will come and fly away their tent, and neither of us would be in it to hold it down with our extra weight, and then it’ll be your fault that they’ve flown off into a tornado of water and are gone forever.”

“Let them have fun, Danny,” Steve says, settling his head onto the pillow. Given how small the tent is, Danny has to use the same pillow, and their faces are inches apart. “And even if there was a monsoon, you idiot, the tent fabric would rip from all our weight, and then we’d all be sucked up into it anyway, and we’d _all_ die.”

“Oh, that’s comforting, thank you Steve, you should have become a therapist. And why are you so hot? God, it’s not hot enough on this dumbass island, you need to make this stupid sleeping bag 100 degrees—”

“If you sleep you won’t notice the heat,” Steve offers helpfully. Danny blows in his face in response.

 

Danny wakes, to his mild surprise, not from Steve’s morning routine but from a bird outside their tent that won't shut up.

Steve’s not an inch from him, literally - in the night, they’ve become slightly entangled in the legs, and Steve’s arm is on his stomach, and their foreheads are touching.

Danny spends a quiet moment to just enjoy seeing Steve asleep - he looks younger like this. Not lethal, not tortured, not haunted - just like a regular, 30-something year old man with fluffy brown hair and good looks that don’t go away even with a slightly open mouth.

Danny finds himself fond, and, in an odd moment, sort of missing Rachel.

He doesn’t want that feeling to last, so he lightly knocks Steve’s shoulder, who wakes up with a crusty blink.

“Hey,” he greets, soft.

“Hi,” Steve croaks back. “Anything the matter?”

“Nah,” Danny answers, still morning soft and feeling utterly contented for no particular reason. “We should probably get up before the kids.”

Steve groans and digs his head back into the pillow, slightly, and Danny finds he agrees.

“Not ideal, babe, but necessary. Do you want them trying to start a fire?”

Steve cracks his neck and sits up, groaning. He stretches, arms above his head, and Danny envies how his back pops. “Grace is a big girl,” Steve says. “She can probably—”

“Nope,” Danny interrupts, sitting up. “Nope, no, no, no, you will not finish that thought, so help me, Steve."

Steve smiles, genuine and calmly happy, and lets himself out of the tent. After a moment of letting himself smile to himself, stupidly, Danny follows.

 

_**6\. Emotional Intimacy** _

“Steve,” Danny snaps. “Step back, now.”

Steve lets himself be dragged by the arm out of the interrogation room. He can feel the quivers of tension throughout his body, his back drawn and taut, and he’s not regretting breaking the table, not really, but he’s fairly certain he has a hairline fracture in his finger now, and, judging by the look on Kono’s face as he left, possibly a fucked-up investigation.

He’s led into his own office, and by the way Danny slams the door and spins him around, he’s pissed.

Unsurprising, given Danny’s natural state.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Danny asks, the same way he always asks, with a little too long of pauses in between the words for emphasis. Steve may punch him. Maybe. He still owes Danny one, ever since that first day they met. “You can’t lose it like that in front of a witness, goddamn it, you know that!”

“Thank you for your sage police advice, Danny, I appreciate it,” Steve says, not meeting Danny’s eye. He studiously is staring at a blank space on the wall, so hard and so unforgiving that he’s legitimately startled by the soft hand on his forearm.

“Steve,” Danny says in a far calmer tone than normal. “You’ve been wrong since yesterday. What’s going on with you? You know you can talk to me.”

Steve huffs, but can feel himself deflate.

“Trust you to always see through my crap,” he mutters, flexing his hand. Definitely a fracture.

“I’m glad you admit it’s crap,” Danny says. “Now spit it out.”

“It’s just - Mary called yesterday.”

“Mary?” Danny’s face twists. “Is she okay? Joan?”

“She’s fine. She was going through some of dad’s old stuff and found a box of stuff about her. A baby album he made of her, first drawings, cards she made him, all that.”

“And?” Danny prompts, when it becomes obvious that he’s not about to follow that up.

Steve sighs, and lets himself find Danny’s eyes. “You do not get to mock me for this,” he says sternly, pointing a finger at Danny’s chest.

“I won’t, Steve, come on, you know me. What’s wrong with the box of stuff?”

“It’s just…” He shuffles his feet, feeling ridiculous. He can’t believe he let this influence his work performance. “There was one for me too. Except it was an eighth of the size. No pictures, only a couple other things. She was trying to be nice telling me, but I got the picture that it was kind of the difference between a TV box and an envelope.”

“Well, that’s fucked up,” Danny says frankly.

Steve barks out a laugh. “Maybe. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb, Steve, Jesus. Despite the jokes, you’re not a robot or an animal.”

“Still,” Steve disagrees, flexing his hand. He feels better, somehow, even though it’s stupid - Danny barely said a word, but somehow sharing the pain lowers his own, and just add that to a list of things his dad should have told him. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You had feelings, ooh, gasp, it’s a shock. Seriously, it’s fine. You probably even intimidated the witness into a statement. No harm, no foul. And Steve—” Danny reaches forward to grab his shoulder and directly looks him in the eye. It makes Steve slightly uncomfortable, like looking directly into a lightbulb, but he holds the gaze nonetheless. “As a dad, let me just say, you love the kids equally. He may have been shitty showing it, but, in your heart, you can’t love one more or another less. It’s just, frankly, impossible.”

“Whatever, Danny. It doesn’t matter.”

“It seems to matter to you,” Danny replies, crossing his arms, and his tone is just too soft. It makes Steve want to start spilling out more secrets, if they get treated like this, like something to be valued and appreciated, like an infant and a cloth.

“Thanks, Danny,” Steve says, and means it.

 

_**7\. Living Together** _

Danny’s most of the way to Steve’s house. He should probably be using the sidewalks, but he’s kind of pissed off and he’s running on purely nervous energy, so he’ll jaywalk and feel bad about it in the morning. There are several angry honks aimed his way, but Danny continues, unfazed.

Well, a little fazed, considering he was almost hit by a Prius.

He briefly considers walking straight in, but Steve’s not expecting him and he doesn’t want a surprised Navy SEAL fist to the face, so he hits the door three times with an open hand, annoyed at himself for being nervous about this.

He knows what Steve’s going to say.

He’s pretty sure, anyway.

Steve opens the door after a few seconds of Danny awkwardly shuffling his feet. He’s wearing a tank top and a surprised expression, and Danny pushes past him into the house.

“Danny?” Steve asks, closing the door and turning. “What’re you doing here?”

“I called,” Danny says.

“I know, I watched it ring.” Steve’s face contorts, like he realizes what he said. “I mean, I was just getting into the shower, figured I’d call you back afterwards. I was about to in a couple minutes. Figured you would have rang again if it was important.”

Now that Danny’s taken a second, he does notice that Steve’s hair is wet.

“Look, okay, here’s the thing,” Danny says, putting his hands in his pockets so Steve can't see them clench. “I just sent Grace back to her mom’s, and she made this comment. And I know she didn’t mean much by it, she’s just a kid, but it was about how she sometimes doesn’t like to come see me because my place is so bad.”

Steve’s confusion turns to sympathy, and Danny hurries on.

“I can’t afford anything better. And, look, if I’m gonna be honest, there’s things I miss about being here. Not everything, mind you, like the stupid sounds and the waves and the sand, God, Steve, you have so much sand, and your stupid showers, and, you know, other stuff, but when it comes down to it, I want Grace to be happy, and you make her happy, and this place is nice, and I don’t like, _hate it,_ so.”

The silence is deafening.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “So?”

Danny sighs, exasperated. “So, you socially inept bigfoot, can I move back in?”

Steve lets him wait in excruciating silence for a moment before breaking out one of his big, genuine smiles.

“Course, Danno. Pick a room.”

He slaps him on the back and turns around. “I was gonna make chicken tonight. That okay?”

Danny stands a moment in stunned silence before realizing that was almost exactly what he expected to happen.

“As long as you don’t put fruit on it,” he answers, following Steve inwards.

 

_**8\. Sharing Clothes** _

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve answers absentmindedly, chewing on the top of a pen. He’s halfway through Mrs. Jenkin’s file and wants to finish before they go to question her.

“What’s with the shirt?”

It takes him a moment to process that, but when he does, he looks down, blinks twice, and looks up to see Kono leaning in his doorway, eyebrow up.

“What?”

“The shirt, Steve.”

He blinks again, looking down. He looks back up. “It’s white.”

She rolls her eyes.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s with the shirt?’ It’s a shirt.”

“It’s like four sizes too small for you,” she says, and she might be right, because he had to roll the sleeves up his forearms because they buttoned like six inches above his wrists.

“Huh. I don’t know, maybe it shrunk in the wash?”

“I think it’s Danny’s,” she says, and pushes herself off the doorway with a hip, fully sauntering in. “I feel like I’ve seen him in that whole white-pinstripe thing.”

“What? No, Danny and I don’t share clothes.”

“Mmmhm,” she says, nodding sagely. A moment, then, “DANNY,” she calls, loud enough that Steve drops his pen on his desk, cringing.

Danny walks in ten or so seconds later, hands in his pockets. “You bellowed, my dear?” he says to Kono. He turns to Steve instinctually, and his face contorts. “Why are you wearing my shirt?” he asks.

“Danny and I don’t share clothes,” Kono mocks, voice way too high. “Yeah, Horton hears a bitchass liar.”

She rolls her eyes, too dramatically if you ask Steve, and turns to leave.

“They probably just got mixed in the wash!” Steve calls after her. Her disbelieving “Uh-huh,” leaves him extremely unsatisfied. He hates losing. By God, does he hate losing.

“Why _are_ you wearing my shirt?” Danny asks, bouncing on his toes, and Steve is supremely annoyed for the second time in literally thirty seconds when the pen he throws at Danny misses its mark of his head.

 

_**9\. Introducing to Family** _

“Steve,” Danny calls.

Steve pokes his head around the corner.

Danny’s on some form of video chat, probably skype, and there’s an older woman on his screen.

“Come say hi to my mom, she wants to meet you.”

Steve’s oddly aware that his shirt has a stain on it, but he comes over pleasantly enough, and sits up against Danny, leaning up against him so both their heads are in frame.

“Howzit, Mrs. Williams?”

“You’re the partner I’ve heard so much about, eh?”

She’s got a tough Jersey accent, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tuts at him. “Could you be more careful not to die, in the future? Danny becomes a real asshole after you’ve been hurt.”

Steve lets out a surprised splutter, and Danny hides his head in Steve’s shoulder, trying and failing not to laugh.

 

_**10\. Co-Parenting** _

“No,” Steve shuts down firmly. “Absolutely not.”

“But Uncle Steveee,” Grace whines. “Just because Danno said no doesn’t mean you have to. You’re his boss, remember?”

“At work,” Steve reminds her, dumping a pan of eggs onto her plate. She pouts at them, and Steve finds himself wondering exactly how he got into this situation. Not that he’s complaining, exactly. Well, maybe a little. But just a little. “When it comes to you, he’s the boss.”

“But he never lets me do anything. I thought you were cooler.”

“I am not, in fact, cooler. Eat your eggs.”

She spears her eggs with a disappointed frown.

 

_**11\. Emotional Dependence** _

Steve isn’t exactly sure what clues him in that he’s in the hospital.

The sickly-clean scent, the heartbeat monitor, the way every single inch of him aches, how it feels like his eyes are glued shut, or the way someone is clutching his hand. All of them are enough to paint the picture.

He peels his eyes open, like pushing against sand, and sees Danny there, disheveled and bloody, and by the wild look in his eye, he wonders just how bad it was.

“Tell me, Steve,” he begins, and, oh, that tone, it was apparently quite bad. “How walking into a terrorist cell with one eighth of a plan and seven eighths of a prayer, without backup, seemed like a decent plan to you.”

“It didn’t,” he croaks, and he must have thrown something up at some point, because, wow, that does not feel right. He goes to look over to where he knows is usually a cup of water, but a sharp pain in his neck has him stilling in fear. Danny moves and grabs something, and then thrusts the cup into his face. Steve takes a few sips, knowing not to over-indulge, and continues. “It didn’t seem like a decent plan. But it was the only one I had.”

“Really? The only one?” And he still sounds pissed, the kind of pissed that actually has ramifications in Steve’s daily happiness, not the kind of pissed Danny is 91% of the time.

“Yeah, I mean. It was a bad situation.”

“Bad situation?” Danny repeats, unimpressed.

“Yeah. The terrorist had the hostage at gunpoint, and was gonna shoot her on video to send to her father. If I didn’t go in, she would have died. I couldn’t wait.”

Danny’s fierce gaze does not waver. “Sounds like a pickle.”

“Danny,” Steve groans, shutting his eyes. “Can you just go on the tirade and get it over with, please? I hurt too much to wait in anticipation.”

“No, Steve, I will not. Because I don’t feel like a tirade. I feel like throttling your overgrown neck, slightly.”

“What would you have had me do, Danny?” Steve asks, opening his eyes. Danny is shaking his head. “No, really. Would you rather her die?”

“I hate so much about how you choose to live your life,” Danny says, not actually answering, bringing a hand up to his eyes. He rubs them, and then settles his elbow on his leg, keeping his eyes covered. The way his fingers are digging into his temple and how his other hand is shaking against his leg is Steve’s first indicator that something might be truly wrong.

“Hey,” he says, bumping Danny’s knee with his hand lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re what’s wrong, Steve,” Danny says, gesturing to Steve with one hand, and not removing his other from his eyes. “The paramedics on the scene couldn’t find a pulse at first. And then they wheeled you away, and while I was getting looked at, I was told you had a five percent chance of pulling through. Do you know how little five percent is, Steve? That’s less than we’ve discovered of the ocean. They told me you probably wouldn’t survive the ambulance ride.”

Steve’s starting to feel a little guilty, but he can’t help but wonder why this time deserves an actual talking to, when he’s probably come closer to death before. Wisely, he doesn’t think he should share this particular thought.

“And I was sitting there having my ribs checked out for no reason other than someone punched me in them, and I just, I really thought I was going to go to the hospital and find you dead. I really thought you were going to break my heart, and suddenly I just saw this future without you in it, and that made me realize I have imagined my future with you in it, and this was _not a fun realization to have in the middle of an active crime scene, Steve.”_

“Are you really blaming me for caring about me?” Steve asks, because he can’t think of what else to say.

“Ha-ha. I goddamn hate you.”

Steve cracks a smile. Good Lord, does his arm hurt.

“Love you too, buddy.”

 

_**12\. Joint Bank Accounts** _

“Everybody up for another round?” Steve asks, pushing back his chair.

It’s a warm, humid night - which, Danny figures, probably goes without saying, given this near-equator hell hole. His hair is starting to frizz, as it's been about fifteen hours since he’s been home and properly gelled it, and he can feel sweat dampening the shirt on his back, probably sticking in unflattering ways, and he can feel sand in-between his toes, which is frankly ridiculous, given he has socks and shoes on and has been in abandoned warehouses all day and not the beach - but given all this, and the other couple hundred things he could complain about if given a soap box, he’s actually having a good night. All four of the task force managed to escape major injuries, and Chin even got to deck a drug-smuggler in the face. The good guys won, the bad guys got their noses broken, and he’s celebrating at dusk with most of his favorite people with a cold beer in his hand.

It could be worse. It could be so much worse.

“Beer? Margarita? Gin?” Steve asks of Danny, Kono, and Chin respectively, all who nod their heads in agreement. Steve stands with a nod and heads back to the bar. Danny watches as he goes, but turns back when Kono bumps her foot with his.

“You know,” she says, “I would have anticipated at least a couple token jabs at Steve for actually paying this time.”

Kono is smiling and Chin laughs, and Danny lets out a chuckle, hand coming up to play with the label on his beer.

“Nah,” he dismisses, raising his beer to his lips. “Kinda a pointless insult now that we’ve joined our bank accounts.”

Danny takes a sip of his beer and almost spits it out at the choking noise Kono makes and the barely suppressed guffaw of Chin’s.

“What?” he snaps, beer coming down on the table with a thump.

“Joined bank accounts?” Chin asks, smirking. “Did we miss the wedding?”

“Hardy har har, that one’s so funny, we’ve never heard that one ever in our lives, thank you for the originality.”

“Seriously, Danny,” Kono says, laugh still ever present in her voice, and really, Danny doesn’t think it’s _that_ odd. “What the hell?”

“Look, when I moved back in with him, I wanted to pay rent, pay for groceries, yada yada, you know the deal. I started writing him checks, but can you imagine Steve dealing with a check properly? No, you can’t, because that’s unimaginable. And then I transferred the money, but then that started to become a hassle. And then what with him paying for some of Grace’s tuition when I got in that tight spot, and stop laughing, Jesus Christ, you two.”

Chin has at least tamed himself down to a bright smile, but Kono’s still fully shaking behind the hand covering her mouth, and really, Danny could throw something at them.

He’s never been one to deny himself, so he does just that. Given it’s napkins, it’s a little underwhelming, but it does make him feel better.

“What are we talking about?” Steve asks, padding right up to the table. He places a hand on Danny’s shoulder to stabilize himself and starts handing out the drinks. Kono takes her purple-pomegranate-whatever-it-is with a smirk.

“Oh,” she says. “Just talking about what’s yours is Danny’s, money wise.”

“What, our bank accounts?” Steve clarifies, plopping himself back down in his chair with far more force than necessary.

“That’s it, brah,” Chin confirms.

“What’s with the laughter?” Steve asks, oblivious, as per usual. “It was only logical.”

“Logic, right,” Kono says.

“What? You think I trust him with my life but not my money?” Steve asks. Kono just keeps on smiling her wide, laughing smile, but Chin shrugs in acknowledgement, and Danny, for once, kind of would like to hug Steve instead of punch him. Just this once.

 

_**13\. Sex** _

It’s a Tuesday night and there’s nothing special about it at all.

They’re watching TV on the couch, some crime procedural that Steve genuinely kind of likes and Danny genuinely kind of likes to make fun of, and they’ve made it through a batch of popcorn, two beers, and they’re both feeling relaxed and tired and rather horny.

“Danno,” Steve starts, bumping his foot into Danny’s. Danny looks up at him, eyes half shut.

“Mmm?”

“It’s such a pain to find sex, isn’t it?”

Danny groans, repositioning himself onto his side so he can see Steve better. “What do you mean?”

“Going out, finding someone willing, all that. It’s annoying and time consuming and too much work.”

“Is this a weird segue into why you miss your friends with benefits thing with Cath? Because, if so,” Danny yawns. “I don’t really care.”

“No,” Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying we should have sex.”

Danny feels like he should probably feel surprised, but, where Steve’s concerned, most anything is possible. His heart rate doesn’t even spike, and he finds himself yawning again before answering.

“Why?”

“Less work.” Steve shrugs. “Plus, repeated sex is better than one night stands. You learn about each other and etcetera.”

“Why are you assuming this won’t be one-off?” Danny asks, and is a little offended by how Steve snorts. “What, you don’t think I can do a one night stand?”

“Why would you want only one night when it’s with _me?_ ” Steve counters, smug, and Danny kind of wants to kick him in the face. If he slides down the couch a little bit, he may be able to manage it.

Instead, he sighs deeply.

“Yeah, alright. Fair enough. Your bedroom?”

 

_**14\. Marriage** _

“Where is McGARRET?”

That tone has literally never meant anything but long, unhappy yelling in his ear for upwards of seventeen minutes. Steve wonders if it’s worth it to go hide in a broom closet, and he’s almost out of his chair when Danny storms in, slamming the door behind him.

“Danno,” he greets politely, settling back down into his chair.

“So I went down to the county records office today. Rachel wanted to see something about our marriage certificate, I don’t know, something to do with Stan and Grace, and I don’t really care. Anyway, when I went in and asked about my marriage certificate, do you know what they gave me?”

Steve’s heart skips a beat, because yes, yes he does know. So, he does the most mature thing he can in this situation and swivels his chair so he’s looking in the opposite direction.

“Steve, so help me God, I will take out my gun and shoot you in the leg.”

Steve grits his teeth and swivels back, a pained smile pasted on his face.

"Yes, Danno?"

“Steve, why do we have a marriage certificate?”

“Don’t blow this out of proportion,” Steve begins, which he thinks is fair, given Danny’s temperament. “But I had us legally married.”

“Legally...How? Why? No,” Danny says, shaking his head. “Start with how.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Steve shrugs. “You barely ever pay attention to what you’re signing.”

It’s almost fascinating to see how many shades of red Danny can be.

“I may actually murder you,” Danny says cheerfully. “It’s becoming a realer and realer possibility.”

“Realer isn’t a word,” Steve corrects mildly, and he probably deserves being hit in the chest with the water bottle on his desk. “What Danny? Do you really have a problem with it?”

“Do I...do I have a problem with it? Of course I have a problem with it, Steve, it’s complete and utter lunacy! There are a million problems with that.”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

Danny rubs his forehead. “Oh, I don’t know, how about taxes! How long should I have been filing a joint return?”

“Two years, and it’s fine,” Steve dismisses. “You’ve been filing joint since we got married.”

“What are you talking about? I have not.”

“Yes you have. Two years ago you got that new tax guy.”

“Yeah, Dave, because you said my last guy was a criminal and then signed me up for this dude without my...” His eyes widen. “You did not make up fake criminal charges on a guy just to get me to switch my tax guy to a person you could control.”

“No, I didn’t file any charges, what do you take me for? I just told you he was so you’d switch, and then told Dave to file us joint!”

“And he didn’t think that was odd _at all?_ ”

“He owes me a favor. He didn’t ask.”

“A favor,” Danny repeats.

“Yes, Danny, a favor, one of those things where one person does something nice for another so the second person does something nice back. I know you’re not familiar with the topic of general niceness, but it’s a fairly common human thing.”

“Oh, you’re making fun of _my_ social skills? That’s rich. That’s nice. This coming from a man who decides to marry me and just _forgot to tell me._ ”

“Good God, Danno, I didn’t forget to tell you. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd yell, just like you are.”

“Don’t Danno me, not right now.” Danny takes a deep, stabilizing breath, and begins again, annunciating far too clearly, like he does when he's well and truly in a buzz. "Steve. Please explain how you can marry someone without their knowledge or consent and it can be a _good idea._ Please, Steve, enlighten me.”

“Will you calm down?” Steve asks, putting his elbows on his desk, and raising an eyebrow. 

Danny seriously considers stalking out, but he wants an explanation more than he wants to blow off steam, which is a minor miracle. 

“Oh, calm down, he says.”

“Yeah, calm down. I got an explanation.”

“So you say, so I am not hearing.”

“That’s because you won’t quit talking! Will you just shut up for five seconds?”

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Danny snaps, and then promptly shuts up. He waves his hand in a _well, continue, you idiot_ gesture.

“Do you remember two years ago when we were in Jersey and you got hit by that car?”

“No, it rattled my memory and I have very specific amnesia. Of course I remember.”

“Well, they wouldn’t let me in to see you at the hospital. They didn’t know the 5-0 there, didn’t know about our relationship with the governor—”

“—The exploited relationship.”

“—Or that we were partners or anything. It’s the first time I’ve been totally locked out. And it got me thinking about spousal privileges.”

“Spousal privileges," he repeats. He can feel some of the emotion and energy slide off him, and he lets himself fall into the chair across from Steve.

Steve looks slightly smug that Danny's seemingly calmed down and is listening to his reasoning.

God, Danny has always hated Steve's reasoning.

“Yes, Danny, spousal privileges. Are you familiar with that concept?”

“Oh, I just didn’t know you knew that word. It is a lot of syllables.”

“Oh, nice, that’s nice. That’s nice." Steve leans back in his chair, seemingly thinking he's already won the battle. "Thank you for that, ripping you poor dear husband.”

“Shut up. Go on. What spousal privileges were we missing out on?”

“Well, visitation, to start with. There’s been several times now that one of us is out of the country and been hurt—”

“—One of us, you say, like it’s not always your fault.”

“—And this would guarantee us visitation anywhere. And, as you pointed out, taxes. Oh, I should tell you, I put Grace and Charlie as my dependents.” A vein bulges in Danny’s forehead, and Steve rapidly continues. “And other things too. Could be useful in an undercover mission. We already have a two year old paper trail of marriage if we need to convince anyone.”

“Not to interrupt—” Danny starts. 

“And yet, here you are, interrupting.”

“But only you, babe, only you would think of that as a potential positive of marriage.”

Steve leans forward, all up in Danny's space now. Danny contemplates if it's worth the maturity drop to push Steve's elbow off the table and have his head fall. Probably not, though he'd enjoy it immensely. “There’s other positives! You’re in my will and I know I’m in yours, and when you leave assets in your estate to your spouse, they won’t be subjected to gift tax. There’s social security benefits, health insurance benefits. And, and,” he says, snapping his fingers in Danny’s face. “I would have the legal right to make a decision in medical situations when you’re incapacitated, and if you die, I would have the right of what would happen to you. Otherwise, it would just be next of kin, which would be, what, your mom? I’d be way better than her.”

“Yes, Steve, you’re better than my mother in every conceivable way," Danny deadpans. And great, he has lost this fight, he can feel it in his chest. 

“And in case there’s any more custody problems, marriage shows a balanced and stable home life. It can’t hurt.”

“It’s not balanced and stable if you’re involved,” Danny says, but with the way he’s starting to smile, small but real, Steve can tell it’s just a formality insult.

“See? I thought it out.”

“That you did, babe. Tell me, what would you have done if I had found myself some girl to settle down with and proposed?”

“You?” Steve mocks. Danny rolls his eyes, but with the way they settle back on Steve, mostly curious but slightly serious, Steve sobers. “I would have divorced you without you knowing. Come on, Danny, I’m not a monster.”

“Nah, not a monster. A socially disturbed animal, maybe.”

“So.”

“So?”

“So, what do you think? Are we divorcing? Is this the last argument of our marriage? Don’t leave me in suspense, Danno.”

Danny stands, seemingly to consider the matter. He puts his hands in his pockets, bounces on the balls of his feet, once, and Steve feels a flash of irritation that he does not want to label as worry.

“Nah,” he says at last, slapping Steve’s shoulder for good measure. “You make some good points. There’s no real harm in staying married, I suppose, as long as you don’t go and find yourself some girl you want to make house with.”

“Or you,” Steve adds. Danny shrugs. “So, really? You’ll stay married to me?”

“Under two conditions.” Steve sighs, nice and heavy. “Hey, no, don’t you sigh at me. Two conditions, alright?” He waves two fingers in Steve’s face, and Steve bats them away irritably. “One: no wedding. None. Nothing. Not even dinner. Absolutely no celebration. In hindsight, Rachel’s and I’s is like, one of the worst days of my life, and I don’t need that kind of memory with you. Capisce?”

“Happily. No wedding.”

“Numero dos.” Danny’s smirk gets slightly wicked, and Steve can feel the smile he didn’t even know had appeared slide off his face. “You have to tell Chin and Kono, and I have to be there.”

 

_**15\. And finally, bingo.** _

“Hey boys,” Kono greets. Both Steve and Danny nod at her, mouths full of french fries, and they’re lucky she loves them so much, because it’s slightly nauseating.

“I got you both a little post-marriage gift.” She throws the little bag onto the picnic table and then sits down across from them, carefully gauging their faces.

She wasn’t certain this was a good idea. She went over it a couple times with Chin, who kept shrugging, which, really someone ought to tell him that isn't a valid form of communication.

Still, though, she loves and appreciates them, and as they seem utterly incapable of doing any of this properly, she figures she can lend a hand.

If they hate it, there’s a forty day return policy.

Steve reaches forward to grab the bag, but Danny swats his hand away.

“Hey, you’ve known for two years,” Danny says, mouth still full. “Anything coming now is to _me,_ since it’s _my_ marriage that’s new.”

“It’s our marriage, Danny, what are you talking about?” Steve counters, reaching to take the bag out of Danny’s hand, who, like a six year old, holds it above his head.

“No, Steven, this is mine to open.”

“Oh, really, putting it above your head is going to deter me? You’re the size of an oompa loompa.”

Steve reaches above Danny, who leans away, almost unbalancing himself from the bench, and really, Kono isn’t sure why she didn’t just become a kindergarten teacher like her grandmother suggested. Same job, less danger. 

“Boys,” she snaps. They still, Steve still reaching above Danny’s head, and Danny halfway off the bench to lean away from him. “It’s for both of you. Just open it.”

They settle back down and Steve, with a grumble, lets Danny open it.

It’s two rings, properly sized, because Kono is a decent detective, unlike these two idiots.

“They’re platinum,” she supplies, when they both seem to be staring at them with no forthcoming words. “More durable than gold and less traditional than silver, which I thought you may like.”

“Thanks, Kono,” Steve says, reaching for the bigger one. He puts it on, and she’s pleased to see it fits. “Looks good.”

“You know we’re not married in real life, though, right?” Danny says, even as he goes to put on the ring. “Like, it’s just on paper.”

“And how exactly is that different from real life?” she asks, trying not to sigh.

“Well, in real life, you have the papers, that’s true. But you also have love, and respect, and like, you live together, and raise kids, and have sex, and pet names, and touch each other, and grow old together, and share stuff...”

He’s been getting progressively quieter as he continues, and Kono is really hoping he’s getting off the midnight train to delusional.

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Right. So different.”

“Huh,” Steve says, staring into open space.

“Huh,” Danny repeats.

Steve looks down at Danny with a frown, who looks back with an equally thoughtful expression.

“Well,” Steve says, putting an arm around Danny, who shuffles closer without thinking. “Okay, then. Couple?”

“That simplifies things greatly,” Danny agrees, reaching down to pop a fry into his mouth.

“What do you mean by that?” Steve asks, while Kono just stares, slightly dumbstruck. 

“Well, it’s just a whole future of romance just—” He makes a popping sound with his mouth with the accompanying hand gesture. “Gone. Just like that. I need to thank you, my friend.”

“What?” Steve repeats, fry almost to his mouth, halfway to offended. He could romance if he wanted. 

“I hate so much about dating. Have I ever mentioned that to you?”

“I don’t know, Danno,” Steve says impatiently. “You hate a lot of things. Can you get to the point?”

“My _point,_ Steven, is now I don’t ever have to go through the trouble of finding a person again. No first dates, no awkwardly not knowing if I should hold her hand, no wondering how much personal stuff to say, worrying about introducing her to Grace and Charlie, no figuring out emotional boundaries. It’s gone in a puff of smoke. Or a puff of Steve, if you will.”

“Glad to help, Danny,” Steve says, still not sure he understands but more than happy to ignore it to eat his fries.

“What, did you want a different life partner?” Danny asks, his tone descending to a dangerous place. “Because it’s a little late for that, buddy. It’d be a pain in the ass to untangle all this mess now.”

“What, we’ve been together for three minutes and it’s already a mess? That’s hardly fair, Danno.”

“Three minutes?” Danny snorts. “Been a lot longer than that, babe.”

“Eh,” Steve shrugs. “I’ve known you’ve been endgame for a while. Only in this way for say, three minutes, though.”

“Good God, are you really going to turn pledging our lives together into an argument?”

“Takes two to tango, Danno,” Steve points out, stealing a fry.

Kono has been watching, fascinated. “You’re both awfully blasé about all of this."

“I mean, it’s not like anything is really gonna change, right, babe?” Danny asks, knocking shoulders. “Just a label, which are bullshit anyway.”

“Right,” Steve answers, slightly tightening his hold on Danny’s shoulder, who unthinkingly burrows in.

Kono sighs, shaking her head. “You know, I swear it is easier to profile our criminals than you two.”

Both give her blinding grins, and she finds herself grinning back, despite herself.

“Thanks, babe,” Steve replies, and kisses Danny on the temple.

Steve's phone rings, and he answers with the customary "McGarrett," and finishes it with the customary "We gotta go" to both Kono and Danny.

"What, I can't even enjoy my new relationship fries?" Danny grumbles, standing.

"I'll buy you more fries later," Steve says, flicking him in the ear.

"No, you won't, because you'll be dead, because you jumped off a cliff running after a drug lord."

"This one's a murderer, Danny, keep up."

"Oh, excuse me," Danny says, and Kono finds herself laughing. 

"What?" Steve asks, waiting for her to get up and follow them out. 

"I don't know," she shrugs, standing. "Good to know the team dynamic won't change, I guess."

__

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm literally eight years late to this game, but boy, these two are fun. Anyway, this was just for funsies.


End file.
